


His Pretty Girl

by orphan_account



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Feminization, In which Waylon is crazy and gets jealous easily, M/M, Rough Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, and Eddie loves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1852507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylon liked when Eddie teased him and said he was prettier than all those other skanks. Waylon liked being pretty for Eddie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Pretty Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Trashy, gratuitous gore and smut. 
> 
> Love, Piix

For this prompt from bewarethegroom:

waylon x eddie, Waylon jealously topping from bottom after finding Eddie with another ‘bride’. They fuck covered in blood.

Nsfw and creepy, violent things ahead!

——-

It hadn’t been long after Waylon had first snapped that the signs of aggression had started to bleed through his usual calm, concise personality. It hadn’t been long until the inmates had started referring to the small male as ‘the Bride’ for his dedication (read: obsession) with his beloved Groom. 

Waylon was so in love with Eddie, it hurt. It actually physically hurt him. That was fine though; he knew Eddie felt the same way for him. Their love was one that had been unmatched, a love that would have no equal no matter how much time passed. It didn’t matter when Eddie hurt him—he only did so because he loved him. The more bruises Waylon received, the more assured he was of Eddie’s affections. 

He practically draped himself over Gluskin. Waylon never left his side. Deep down, where the fear of being murdered once used to reside, was a new, twisted little anxiety; what if Eddie found someone better than him? There were so many other suitors for his love in the asylum, after all. Waylon had seen several failed brides when he’d first met Gluskin. 

Luckily, Eddie had stopped ‘courting’ them in order to wed Waylon. While the Groom believed he had made an ‘honest woman’ out of the ex-programmer, the Bride was in utmost confidence that he had put an end to Eddie’s ‘playboy promiscuity’. He couldn’t help but despise those sluts he saw strung up in the gymnasium. Ugly little things. (Waylon liked when Eddie teased him and said he was prettier than all those other skanks. Waylon liked being pretty for Eddie.)

In order to be the perfect wife, Waylon would wear each and every outfit Eddie had sewn for him; from the cute, modest house dresses, to the revealing lingerie, used only when it came time for their…bedroom activities. Besides looking the part, Waylon cleaned, swept, and dusted anything and everything that required cleaning, sweeping and dusting. He also made food at his husband’s request; breakfast, lunch, dinner, and anything in between. He was, in all honesty, the picture of a flawless housewife. 

Waylon didn’t have a strict schedule. He made meals at his and Eddie’s leisure. He tidied up when it became necessary. There was however, one task he performed every single day without fail; his shaving. 

Each afternoon, at roughly 4pm, Waylon would go to Eddie’s workroom in order to have his lover determine whether he needed to be trimmed or not. Most cases, he was deemed suitable, having cleaned his body of disgusting hairs in the early morning. But sometimes, Waylon just needed a slight touch up. And Waylon took this criticism and his shaving happily. 

He was not afraid to change himself to be pretty for Eddie. Anything to keep his eyes from wandering to those disgusting whores.

A bucket of soapy water in one hand (inside was also a wet towel), and his razor in the other, the Bride stood at the entrance of his husband’s workroom, an eery smile gracing his features. Glassy, brown eyes flicked to a clock on the wall out of habit. 

4 o’clock. 

Before his daily grooming, Waylon had checked and double checked until finally coming to the conclusion that he was absolutely hairless… Content with his examination, he eagerly awaited Eddie’s praise (he liked being coddled and having his smooth skin massaged by the Groom), so as always, at exactly 4pm, Waylon rapped three times on the decaying wooden door. 

And no one answered. 

Waylon blinked slowly. 

How strange! Every day, without fail, Eddie would answer and give him his beautiful smile, pull him into his arms with a soft call of ‘darling’ and—

Thump. 

Wait. What was that? 

Eyes narrowing, Waylon pressed his ear to the door, bucket falling to the side with a wet-sounding splash. He strained his hearing, concern leaping into his chest. Was Eddie upset? … He sure sounded angry, but that might just have been because his latest gown was proving rather difficult. Then Waylon heard a second voice. 

"God—oh god, stop—!"

Who was in there with Eddie? His Eddie? An intruder, perhaps? They weren’t frequent in the Vocational Block anymore, but it was definitely a possibility. 

Then he heard Eddie. 

"Darling, don’t move! I just want to make you beautiful. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be…! You’d look quite lovely if you’d just—hold—still!”

The sound of a fist hitting skin. A pained cry, a soft gurgle. 

Waylon felt his heart hammering his chest. 

Once upon a time, when he had still been Waylon, and not some twisted caricature the Groom had created, hearing Eddie being abusive towards a patient would have been a big, flashing sign of ‘get the hell out’. But that had been then. This was now. 

And the Bride was furious. 

He hadn’t exerted so much strength since the time Frank tried to bake him in the furnace. But adrenaline and pure rage gave a person a lot of determination—and Waylon was determined to break the door down. 

The feeling of wood splintering under his shoulder with each slam was oddly satisfying, and by the fifth try, Waylon knew he had reached success. The door cracked and fell as the Bride stumble forward, catching his breath as he took in the scene before him. 

There was a naked man laying on the table, very much alive, with a jagged looking injury stretching over his chest. It was a miracle he hadn’t died from the wound. Eddie was covered in blood from arms to mid-torso, his head snapping to look towards the doorway that Waylon had burst from. Had he been in the right mind, the look of utter shock on Eddie’s face would have been priceless. He never would have assumed his little wife to have been so strong. 

But the Groom was not his first concern at the moment (though he would definitely give him a piece of his mind in a moment). 

No. His first priority was the naked man on the table, now able to sit up without Eddie restraining him with his hands. 

The Variant’s eyes lit up upon seeing Waylon (he was probably more lucid than the other madmen in the asylum), clearly expecting assistance. All hope vanished as Waylon slowly raised his shaking arm and pointed, razor squeezed so tightly in his grip that his knuckles turned white. 

If the patient had thought Gluskin had been terrifying, it was nothing compared to the manic, insane loathing burning in Waylon Park’s eyes. His jaw was clenched firmly, the pulsing vein visible, and it seemed like the slightest spark would set him off. The Variant desperately glanced around for an exit, gaze falling on Eddie by accident. 

Waylon interpreted the stare as one of longing, and then snapped as a result.

"You bitch!” he shrieked, voice reverberating through the room, venomous and hysterical in its rage. Eddie wasn’t able to stop him fast enough as Waylon launched himself at the man, blade raised high. How dare this slut look at his husband in such a manner! How dare this common tramp come in here, into his home that he had so carefully built with Eddie, and try to destroy it! 

Waylon was straddled on the man’s hips, the force of his tackle knocking him back onto the table. 

Eyes wide with panic, the Variant started thrashing, “Don’t do this—” he begged, unable to shake the Bride. 

"Shut up," Waylon hissed, stabbing the man through one shoulder, breathing erratic. "He’s mine. Do you understand me? Mine!" He dragged the blade down diagonally, cutting through flesh and probably nicking several bones. He had to ruin this man. Make him so fucking hideous so that Eddie wouldn’t dare to look at him again. 

"I love him. I gave him everything—and you?! You’re just a trollop! You can’t have him!" Waylon screamed, spittle flying from his mouth as he stabbed the man again and again, blood erupting from each wound and splattering his face and dress. He didn’t even realize the light had faded from the Variant’s eyes by the sixth stab. "You fucking home-wrecker!”

Waylon didn’t stop. He cut at the cheeks, the eyes, the mouth, all the while as Eddie watched, entranced by the alien beauty of his Bride. The way he mutilated the man underneath him was hypnotic. 

Each puncture was accentuated with a venomous cry of ‘ugly!’ or ‘cunt!’, hot, angry tears flooding Waylon’s eyes. 

It could only have been seconds since he’d started his assault, but it felt like hours when Eddie finally stopped him—catching his arm as Waylon raised it back in order to stab the stranger again. 

"Enough," Eddie whispered, blue eyes glinting with something foreign as he searched the Bride’s face. They both ignored the dead body on the table besides them. Waylon, because he was in the middle of a psychotic break. Eddie, because he was far too interested in the way blood patterned itself on Waylon’s cheeks. 

The razor fell from Waylon’s fingers with a clatter, red dripping from his hands as he caressed Eddie’s face. He was still trembling, a tiny little giggle escaping his mouth as he was diverted away from the body. He started babbling nonsensically, “I won’t let them take you. Won’t let anyone t-take you…” He trailed off and swallowed thickly. 

He needed to make sure he was the only girl in Eddie’s heart. 

Waylon started fumbling with the buttons on Eddie’s shirt, and surprisingly, the larger man let him. Blood smeared on the fabric, stained on skin, but neither cared. Waylon needed to take Eddie. Make him his. He needed Eddie to know that he would not tolerate cheating—would not let him forget just what Waylon was willing to do for him. To do to him. 

Eddie helped pull the now-red dress over Waylon’s head, and offered a warm smile, unable to understand the severity of the situation. “Darling, I apologize for my behavior. All I wanted was to make her beautiful—”

"Shut up."

Eddie blinked, voice turning steely. Was his wife’s peaking back to him? “Excuse me?”

"I said shut the hell up!” Waylon hissed, sanity fraying even further. He undid the buckle of Eddie’s belt, only sliding his pants down far enough so he could reach his boxers. He yanked those down as well. 

Frustrated at the lack of room available on the table, he turned quickly and pushed the body off the bloody surface in order to accommodate himself and Eddie. It hit the ground with a sickly squishing noise. It was oddly satisfying. 

"Am I not good enough for you, Eddie? Baby, I can be better. I’ll be cuter. I’ll be sweeter," he promised, voice becoming soft and feminine as he slid his panties down his legs. Waylon played up the girlishness, batting his lashes coquettishly as he ran his tongue over his lips. He wasn’t going to let Eddie get his way this time. He needed to be reminded just who he had wed. 

Eddie was not scared of anything. He could have easily taken control of the situation. But he played Waylon’s game, humoring his wife as he didn’t yet no what Waylon had planned. “No, no. You’re beautiful,” he whispered as Waylon climbed over him. Seeing his wife all covered in blood like that, seeing him murder that slut in cold blood—it had gotten him hard in seconds flat. Who knew how hot Waylon looked when he got a little crazy?

"I don’t believe you," Waylon murmured, hands trailing over the hot flesh of Eddie’s cock. The blood made it sticky, but it didn’t seem to faze Waylon at all. He tilted his head to the side as he stared at Eddie. Clicking his tongue, he slowly announced, "I am going to ride you. Dry. No lube. And you are going to tell me how beautiful I am and how much you love me. I am going to make you forget every girl in the world, except for me." Giggling almost hysterically, he lined up his ass with Eddie’s dick, his tight ring of muscle fluttering in anticipation. 

The Groom let out a shuddering breath and gave a shallow nod. 

Smiling widely (insanely), Waylon slammed down, mouth falling open as he howled in agony. He was certainly much more loose than he had been when they’d started—but Eddie was enormous. He was sure he was bleeding back there—but god, did Waylon love it. Slowly, steadily, Waylon started bouncing up and down, moaning lewdly as he rested his bloody hands on Eddie’s chest. 

"Feels s-so good," he breathed. "No other girl has a pussy as tight as mine, right? Right?"

"Y—ngh, yes," Eddie grunted, settling his hands on Waylon’s waist. They were immediately swatted off. 

Waylon gave him a piercing look as he stilled his movements, clenching his ass muscles purposefully so that Eddie knew he wasn’t joking around. “Do not touch,” he growled, almost immediately lapsing back into his cutesy voice. “Am I pretty, Eddie?” He asked, nails biting into Eddie’s skin as he rocked down to rub his prostrate. Waylon squealed and let his eyes roll back, adding shakily, “Prettier than all those other ugly fuckers?”

Eddie nodded and groaned, voice thin and strained as he said, “Of course. Now darling, c-can we hurry this along, so I can take you—”

"No. I’m in control tonight. I want you to think about me. Only me. You are mine—and I am yours’. Your own personal whore. You don’t need anyone else." Waylon said sternly. 

Eddie grunted in response as Waylon squeezed him just right. He was correct, of course. Waylon was the best lover—best wife—he had, and would ever have. 

Sometimes, he got carried away in making the world beautiful. Eddie would not make the same mistake twice. He would appreciate Waylon more from now on—and if he didn’t, the Bride had made it very clear what would happen. 

~~~

It took three hours of rough, sensual fucking to finally wear Waylon out. 

While he was furious at being ‘dominated’, Eddie knew well enough that he was, in a way, at fault. He should not let himself be enamored with others when he had a beautiful, dedicated wife such as Waylon. 

Eddie carried an exhausted Waylon to bed after cleaning up with the towel and bucket he’d found just outside the (now broken) door. He had had to refill it first, but now clean, he took the Bride to bed with him. 

One arm slung around Waylon, the other acting as a pillow, Eddie was just starting to drift to sleep when he heard Waylon whisper, “If you ever leave, I’ll kill you. That’s okay, though. If I ever leave—you get to kill me, too.”

Hm. 

With this newly discovered jealous streak, Eddie wondered just how he could work this to his advantage….


End file.
